In The Skin Of A Murderer
by Minnie the Homicidal Duck
Summary: We all know Beyond Birthday, the psychotic, L copy-cat murderer. But none of you know his back story. His insanity and furious desire to be exactly like L doesn't come out of nowhere. It doesn't, because it all started back at the Wammy's House, when BB was a child. All because of a little "science experiment". One little bird. M for gore and possible adult scenes.
1. Chapter 1

19 August 1997

Dear diary,

I am Beyond Birthday. I am ten years old and I live at the Wammy's House, an orphanage for specially gifted children.

Yesterday was my tenth birthday. They gave me this book, this leather-covered, blood-red book. I opened it, but nothing was written in it. I then realized it was a diary.

This is the first time I've ever written my thoughts down on a page. Others do it; I always found it rather silly, like they're looking for sympathy. And what better way for people to pry into your life than by keeping a diary? But now I'm doing it myself, it doesn't seem so stupid.

I suppose people have always felt a need to confide in someone, or something, hence this book. I guess it's a sentiment that comes with being human. What am I, then, seeing as I have never felt that?

I've never trusted anyone, not even Mr. Wammy, the director of the orphanage. I'm not like the others.

Diary, lights are going out in a few seconds, so, I must leave you.

Beyond.


	2. Chapter 2

23 August 1998

Dear diary,

Something happened today. I had gone outside in the playground alone because I wasn't feeling well. A little swallow was caught in the bars of the gates, trying to get out. I took the bird in my hands, waiting until it calmed down. Then, I snapped it's wings.

It was actually an accident. But I felt no remorse and it was interesting, seeing the animal squirm in obvious discomfort, letting out little cries of pain, with it's little black eyes, wide with pain, trying desperately to flap useless wings and not realizing it was just hurting itself even more.

I watched it for a while, then understood that it wasn't going to die. So I thought; _What better chance to experiment?_

I saw it like a science experiment, personally. So I cut it's chest open and observed it's beating heart.

I had always wanted to see one, anyway. It's interesting; it was beating so fast... but it stopped rapidly afterwards. Even so, it was still fascinating.

Anyway. I went out of my room to put the sparrow outside-what use could I make of a corpse, especially one I'd already dissected? And then, everyone came out of their classrooms. As soon as they saw me, they were paralysed. An older boy called Thomas said, "BB? Oh... please, no. Are you hurt?"

I smiled reassuringly and held up the sparrow. "Oh, no. Don't worry, it's not my blood."

There were various cries of horror, gasps. What had I done wrong? Everyone was staring at me like... like I was going to kill them. Like I was mentally unstable.

Mr. Wammy came out of his office and paled when he saw me. In a shaking voice, he said, "Go on back to your classes, everyone. Beyond, come with me."

We went outside and I threw away the dead bird. Mr. Wammy told me how it was cruel and he never wanted to see me do that again. I looked him in the eye and said, "Sir, the bigger fish eats the smaller fish. Right?" But he shook his head and said that what I'd done was unnecessary and disgusting.

I didn't understand back then. I don't understand now. My theory isn't flawed. It's the way life goes. Isn't it? I don't understand why people can't realize I'm right.

But I've learnt something today, diary.

I'm not like all the others. And maybe not in a good way.

It frightens me.


	3. Chapter 3

16 September 1998

Dear diary...

Ever since "the incident" as others like to call it, people have been avoiding me. Every other child who used to talk to me has just... stopped. The day after "the incident", everyone shied away from me and refused to talk to me. My roommate moved out. His name was Benjamin, and he used to have so much fun with me. When I tried saying hello to him he threw me a contemptuous look and ran away. I don't understand. What have I done wrong? Wasn't he meant to be my friend?

There's a new kid too. Pale, skinny, tall, with black hair and black eyes. Just like me, really, except my eyes are red. He didn't do anything special-nothing at all. But he's instantly popular. Exactly like I used to be... people like him. I don't know why. But I know one thing about him, diary. He's cleverer than the rest-much cleverer. He analyzes things so perfectly, with so much more detail than anyone else could ever do. When he gives an answer in class-a rare thing-he develops it so well that the teacher just puts his answer into the lesson immediately. Even they know he's clever already, even if he's only been here a few weeks. They did that for me. That must mean I'm as clever as him, right?

I don't think he's even noticed me. I realized quite soon that teachers didn't want me to speak in class anymore, I stopped answering questions and making comments, so I'm utterly silent these days. They don't seem to mind. They ignore me, and when they give a test back to me, they hurry away as fast as they can. I still get full marks, but before, nobody got full marks except me. Now, the new boy does too.

And one last thing, diary. The new boy? His name is L.


	4. Chapter 4

29 September 1998

Diary,

A few days ago, we handed in our assignments. We had to draw the Wammy's house people. I drew them as I usually would, and added their numbers above their heads so as to represent them fully. When they asked me what they were, I said I didn't know and that they were the numbers I saw above every person's head. And oh dear diary, they didn't look pleased at all. They scowled at me and told me to stop making stories up.

But I'm not making anything up. Those numbers are real.

L handed in his drawing. Everyone was in stick form, except two people who were perfectly drawn and looked exactly alike. I'll recount the conversation;

"L, why are there two of you, and why is everyone else stick people?"

"There aren't two of me," he said slowly, in his low, quiet voice. "That's two different people."

"Then who are they?"

"That's me and Beyond Birthday."

Oh, the humiliation, diary. Everyone turned to look at me as if I was a piece of dirt. I did my best to ignore them and focused on L. What was he doing? Why had he embarrassed me like that? More importantly, what I done to him?

As everyone left the classroom, I heard people whispering to L.

"Don't draw him, he's ugly."

"Don't bother with him."

Then, some of the older students took him apart, looking very protective and official, and threw me murderous glances.

"You shouldn't get involved with that creep."

"He's a weirdo."

I couldn't bear facing everyone again, so instead of going on to my next class, I went outside. I knew a safe place where no one, not even Mr. Wammy or L, could find me. It was located behind the Wammy's House, where behind the fence there was a thick forest. The trees were close together so very few people could see me there.

I sat down, huddled against a tree, wondering my life's events had taken a turn for the worse. And who was L, to publicly humiliate me like that, when I'm sure he knew exactly what I was going through? He wasn't stupid. Or maybe he was something else. Maybe he was... bad.

Lost in the contemplation of this, I didn't notice a little noise to my right. I only saw he was there when he began speaking.

"What are you doing here?"

Always that strange, quiet voice, deeper than a child of his age's should have been. It was quite curious, and it was one of the things that we didn't have in common.

"Escaping. What are you doing here?" I responded, returning his own question.

It was odd how much my voice sounded different in his presence. It was strangely husky, and sounded like I was tense. Whatever the case was, and no matter how unkempt L was, I felt unsophisticated and ungraceful whenever he was near.

L didn't answer my question and sat down beside me. I decided that now would be the only chance I would get to question him.

"Why did you draw us both?"

"To show them that you're my equal."

Diary, I can't describe the sentiment that filled me then. I can't even begin to tell you how deliriously happy I was, and the most illogical part of it was that I didn't even know why...

"And why were everyone else stick men?"

"Because I don't know who they are."

"And you know me?"

"Of course."

His statements were so cryptic, and I barely understood them.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because ever since I've come here, I've watched you. I know exactly who you are."

So he had been doing the same thing as me... we had both been secretly observing each other in silence from the shadows. His tactic had been the same as mine. He had been intrigued by me from the start.

"Does that make us friends?" I asked.

L turned his emotionless face toward me, his wide black eyes staring at me, as if trying to probe into my soul.

"Why, I suppose it does, Beyond," he said, his face barely two inches away from mine. Despite this disturbing detail, I didn't feel that his proximity was anything romantic or sexual. It was L's way of doing things. He needed this closeness to watch me for any distinguishing signs, for any indication that something might be afoot.

But nothing was. L got up and held out his hand to me.

"Perhaps we should get back to lessons. After all, if we're friends, we stick together."

I couldn't counter his argument, having no knowledge of friendship. I assumed he knew more about it than me. I nodded.

"Perhaps we should."

I took his hand and he pulled me up. As we walked back to the Wammy's House, L walking slowly and hunched over, and me walking slowly but with a straight back, I looked at him from the corner of my eye and paid attention, for the first time, to his name and the numbers above his head.

"L Lawliet. 15, 23, 16, 32," I murmured, so softly I was sure he wouldn't hear me. But L's head snapped around to face me.

"They're my numbers, aren't they?"

I was astounded. How did he know?

"I saw your drawing," he explained. "Those are my numbers aren't they?"

I nodded.

"What do you think they stand for?"

"I don't know," I said. "I have never thought about it."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

L took on quite a childish look, glanced around to make sure no one could hear, and whispered a few words into my ear

I almost regret having listened to him. It was something I hadn't expected at all, something completely odd and definitely something I hadn't thought of.

L thinks that the numbers above everyone's head are the numbers that indicate when they are going to die.


	5. Chapter 5

12 October 1998

Diary,

L and I have been discussing various theories about how to calculate the lifespan of a person according to the numbers that I see in the air. I wanted to try out his numbers, but L refused.

"I don't want to know when I'm going to die," he said. "No one does. All it'll do is put pressure on me and I don't want to bear that weight."

Understandable.

Instead, we sat on the wall all day long and observed the other Wammy's students. L said that logically the person with the shortest time to live would have the shortest number.

Diary, I won't say that sitting on a wall all day with L was particularly pleasant. I didn't mind staying silent for most of the time, but as for the looks the other students gave us... a memorable one is when an older student yelled at L.

"I thought I told you not to hang around that freak!" he spat venomously.

"I heard you," L said distractedly.

"Then why didn't you do as I said?"

"I heard you, but chose not to listen. We are doing something extremely important," he said, suddenly losing his abstract gaze. "Which doesn't need your interference. What goes on between me and Beyond is no one's business."

The student jeered at us. "What's that supposed to mean? That you're gay?"

"No," L responded patiently. "It means that we're friends."

"Whatever," he snorted. "I warned you about that creep. Your choice if you still insist on hanging out with him."

He walked off, arrogance visible in every one of his steps. I scoffed at him.

"He doesn't know anything. I'm sure he wishes he did."

L slowly turned to look at me and for the first time I felt I'd said something wrong. He stayed that way for several minutes, just gazing at me.

"He's incredibly lucky to know about nothing," L murmured, so softly that I barely heard him. "I'm surprised at you, Beyond. You should envy him, not scorn him."

With that, L turned away with a distant, closed look on his face.

I felt guilty, because it was the first time I'd angered L. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the wall, and just as we were about to give up, I saw a little girl go by.

Diary, she really was the sweetest little thing. She had lovely long blond curls, and eyes bluer than the sky itself. Her smile was beautiful and revealed regular, tiny white teeth.

I nudged L, not detaching my eyes from her on second. His dark eyes lit up.

"What are her numbers?"

"Fifteen, seventeen," I muttered.

"Then we have our start," he said quietly back to me. "I hope you're not tired, because we're staying up all night."


	6. Chapter 6

29 October 1998

Well diary, we've been searching for the formula for precisely 15 days and three minutes but we've found absolutely nothing. Neither of us understand. We're meant to be brilliant, aren't we?

So why haven't we gotten anywhere?

The worst part is that the girl died the next day. Heh, she was run over by a car. Everyone was devastated, and spent the day mourning.

Many people stared at me, whispering murderously.

"Bet you he doesn't even care about Lilly."

"He's such a bastard."

"A right psychopath."

But they said nothing about L. Why weren't they taunting him too, seeing as he displayed about the same amount of emotion as me? I quizzed him about it.

"Ryûzaki?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think about Lilly's death?"

He was completely silent for a good ten minutes. I began thinking he wasn't pleased with what I'd said, and was about to inquire further into that, until he actually answered me.

"It's what's called a tragedy," he murmured. "A complete, unfair, pointless tragedy."

Of course. That was L. Trying to find the simplest and shortest but most forceful way of expressing himself.

I meditated his words for a few minutes, then answered him.

"But doesn't death happen for a reason? For all we know she could have been a spoiled brat."

L turned his face towards me. His eyes were even worse than usual, seemingly darker and for some reason containing more emotion.

"No spoiled brat of five deserves to die."

I left it at that, sensing that the discussion was closed.

Diary, we're at a loss at what to do. We can't find anything. Our first formula began as this;

a = b*c

With b being 15 and c being 17. But that gave us 255, and that certainly couldn't be right, no matter where we placed the comma.

Our next, still keeping it very simple, was this;

a = b/c

But that gave us 0.882352941. We thought it might be the answer, until we divided 24 by 0.882352941 and got 27.200000005. Which was not logical.

Our most recent calculation was this;

a = ([b²]/[c24])-6*(-72)

Apply square root to the answer

Needless to say, that is not the answer either.


	7. Chapter 7

31 October 1998

It was L's birthday today.

Everyone crowded around him, wished him a happy birthday, praised him for being older. How stupid-older just means you'll die sooner. He even had a cake-a pure white one with a black "L" on it. Need-less to say, he ate the whole big round cake by himself.

I used to have a cake when it was my birthday. But I think that I won't have any more now, since the incident with the bird.

Once again, people left me out. They tried to convince L to stay away from me, as always, but he responded cryptically, seeming to avoid the question. No different from usual, really. I don't understand him. I really don't. He could take the opportunity to leave me and be friends with what would commonly be called the "popular kids". So why does he stay with me?  
The answer is obvious. He's interested in my eyes. My red eyes that can see strange numbers above people's heads. It frustrates me. In stories, the main person sees their date of death, not random numbers above their head. I have to look it all up.

L was expected to stand up and thank everyone for their presents. Instead, he stood up, nibbling his thumbnail, shoulders hunched as always. His dark eyes travelled over the whole crowd waiting expectantly.

"I liked the cake," L murmured. "Thank you."

He sat back down.

The entire room was silent. Well, what did they expect? They didn't know L like I did. In truth, he didn't care about the presents, or in fact his birthday. He only cared about the cake. It really sounds pitiful, doesn't it?

That day, L showed me strawberry jam. I'd never tasted it before-I have no interest in sweet things. L stuck his fingers in the sticky red substance and brought them close to my face.

"Try it," he said quietly. "It's the same colour as your eyes."

His fingers were in front of my mouth, the jam dripping slowly from them.

I opened my mouth and closed it around his digits, sucking off the strawberry mixture. It was... nice. I held out my hands for the jar.

"Give it to me," I ordered him.

He handed me the jar and I began eating the jam. It was addicting. How amazing that this boy, identical to me yet knowing next to nothing about me, knew exactly what I would love. Did he know me that much better than I believed?...


	8. Chapter 8

6 November 1998

We still haven't found anything. We're searching, almost all the time. And still nothing. I want to give up-we have no more time to do anything, we're completely isolated from the rest of the kids. Everyone has stopped trying to get L away from me-I suppose they've classified him as a weirdo too now. But the difference between me and him is that they know and admire his intellect. They know I'm clever, but they won't acknowledge it. Like I'm not worth it. They've decided to ignore me. I suppose it's better than being persecuted and bullied.

It doesn't hurt me. But it doesn't hurt me because I have L. He won't leave me-at least, not until he understands the mystery of my eyes. Then, he will leave me because he will have lost all interest in me. It would be easier to sabotage his attempts if I knew myself how to calculate the time of death, but I'll find a way. I'll make sure that L never leaves me. Because if he does, I'll be alone again. And I don't want to be alone.

Another thing happened, recently. I was always top of the class before, I always got one hundred percent on almost any test. Except art-I would always get ninety-nine percent on art, because I'm less good at it than anything else. But no matter, I always got the top marks.

L got his project back. He got one hundred percent.


	9. Chapter 9

21 November 1998

Diary, I understand now what I must do. I want to know what these numbers mean, how to read them, but I can't lose L. I don't want him to leave. And he will, just as soon as he understands what these numbers mean. So I must lead him on. Create false paths so that he doesn't eventually crack the mystery of my eyes.

L got back another assignment. He got one hundred percent again, whereas I had gotten ninety-nine percent. Diary... I was mortified. He has changed in my eyes. Not him-he hasn't changed personally, but how I view him definitely has. It's like he is... superior to me. And no one has ever been superior to me. People aren't even bullying me anymore. They're... ignoring me.

I hate being ignored. _I hate_ _it_.

I'm in L's shadow. Already, and he's only been here a month or so. Everyone used to be in my shadow before! This is unjust! I refuse it.

So the only way to prove I'm better than L, to surpass him...

Is to do something impossible. Something no one will ever be able to do. Not even him. And my impossible feat shall be keeping the secret of how to calculate the lifespan of a person. That way, everyone will see I'm better than him. I don't even know the method myself.

But, there's something I haven't mentioned. Today, I found a note on my table. It said;

_Try dividing the lifespan by 3,356._

I... don't understand. What good would that do? Nevertheless, I'll try it. As soon as I find a short number.


End file.
